


Shot For Shot For Shot

by hopelessbookgeek



Series: Gold-Lie Promises [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Come as Lube, Female Jack, GTA AU, M/M, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Rough Sex, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7087870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessbookgeek/pseuds/hopelessbookgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Jones is pissed off and more than a little drunk. Gavin Free is only one of those things. They work off their frustration together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shot For Shot For Shot

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why this is a GTA AU. Don't look at me

“Three shots of the strongest whiskey you got,” Michael muttered to the bartender. When a notification on his phone lit up that someone had liked his picture of _her_ on Instagram, he said, “actually, four.”

He downed the first two shots fast but lingered over the third. The whiskey was shit, but he already knew it would be. This bar was shit, run by the surliest woman he’d ever met. Fuckin’ fiery redheads. His own curse. “You look awful,” she said, and Michael flipped her off.

“Fuck off, Jack. I didn’t ask.”

“Probably don’t want to hear that I told you so?”

“I swear to God, I’m not in the fuckin’ mood. I will burn this place down.”

Jack shrugged. “I’ll make a damn mint off the insurance. Want a hug?”

“Fuck you. Two more shots, you bitch.”

“Oh, honey, you _do_ know how to sweet talk a lady.” Alright, maybe he was the surly one. Probably that guy she was fucking would rough him up if he kept talking to her like that. Still, she poured him the shots, and he shut up. He saw, in his periphery, some guy sit next to him, but didn’t turn to look at him. Jack let him talk to her however he wanted, but she wouldn’t put up with him starting fights with other customers, and God, he wanted to fight.

The guy ordered a few shots of his own in a British accent, saccharine and lilting. Michael hated him already. Could he not have picked any other seat in this ugly bar? It was empty, it was 3am on a Tuesday. He tipped back three of the four shots in front of him; the cheap whiskey burned his throat, tasted like nothing except the fire. It was fucking awful, and exactly what he needed. It took him a lot these days to get drunk. Might as well try.

The motion of the guy next to him throwing down his two shots made Michael deign to look over at him. He was scrawny, messy-haired, beaky-nosed. He wasn’t smiling. No one in a Los Santos bar at 3am on a Tuesday would be smiling. “What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly.

The guy shrugged. “Could probably ask you the same thing.”

Good answer. He was pissed off too. “I’ll buy the next round. Interested?”

“If you’re buying, I’m drinking.” Michael motioned to Jack for three more shots, one for him and two for the stranger, leaving them with two each. “Going shot for shot?”

“I’m tired, I’m pissed off, and my suddenly ex-girlfriend is a whore. I’m either drinking with you or I’m going out and shooting something and my roommate promised he’d call the cops on me this time.” He held up his shot glass– smudged with fingerprints that were not his own, he noticed– and the guy tapped it with his own in the world’s saddest toast.

“To cheating exes,” the guy muttered, and they both drank to that. There was a certain kinship to it. After a beat of silence, he asked, “so, uh, what’s your name?”

“Michael. You?”

“Gavin. When’d you find out? Bout your ex.”

Michael scowled. “Sent me a picture of her kissing some other guy. Fuckin’ drug dealer, got his own penthouse downtown.”

“You know what the best revenge is?”

“Happiness?” Stupidest fucking expression if Michael had ever heard one.

Gavin snorted. “Nah. Go buy a bigger penthouse.”

Michael almost laughed, a harsh bark that made Jack look up in alarm. “That’s not the worst–” His phone buzzed, and out of habit he checked it, a picture message of her and her new guy macking on the pier. “God _damn_ it!”

Gavin peeked over his shoulder. “That her?”

“Yes! Stupid fucking…” He fumbled around for the camera, his fingers seeming stiff and thick. Maybe he was drunker than he thought. “Get the fuck over here, Gavin. You know what the best revenge is? Being a petty fucking asshole.” He grabbed Gavin by his shirtfront and tugged him in for a kiss, sloppy and deep. When he felt Gavin relax and kiss back he snapped the picture. The flash, in this dingy bar, would make the picture look ugly, but this wasn’t a goddamn headshot. He released Gavin, who stumbled back into his seat.

Indeed, the picture was washed out, but it was obviously Michael making out with a guy, so he sent it to her with the message “we ain’t goin home alone tonight”. “That’s not a bad idea,” Gavin said. “Send that to me so I can send it to my ex.”

He handed the phone to Gavin to send to himself. After a second, Gavin handed the phone back and sent the picture off from his own, nicer, phone. “Last shot?” Michael suggested, holding up his own glass. Gavin, as before, tapped it with his. “To petty fuckin’ revenge?”

“Yes.” They both drank and in just a minute, Gavin’s phone buzzed with a text. He looked at it and handed it to Michael without a word. There was the picture, and the caption, the same as Michael’s: “not going home alone tonight”. Under that was a text from the ex, whose name appeared to be Tom, reading “me neither ;)” and a picture of what looked like a dick, close up. It might have been his own, but the angle and the caption suggested it was his partner’s.

Gavin hadn’t given him permission but Michael texted back. “Is that his thumb?” he sent first, followed by “looks like a Flaming Hot Cheeto with all the dust licked off”. He handed the phone back to Gavin, who stifled his laughter by cramming his fist against his mouth. There were tears in his eyes, though, and that was why Michael didn’t regret being an asshole. First of all, he’d been an asshole his whole life, there was no point starting to regret it now. Second, god damn it, he was in the same sorry state. It was guy code to protect a guy whose heart has been broken.

It felt good to be angry. Felt good to work off some of that frustration, and even as Gavin’s predicament had softened him up a bit, the shitty whiskey and ugly bar and lingering rage were building up again in his gut and he wanted– no, he _needed_ to work it out.

So he turned back to Gavin and it felt completely normal to say “I need you to punch me in the fucking face.”

Gavin shook his head. “Not gonna do that.”

“Wasn’t really a question.”

“Then you don’t really need an answer.”

Michael sighed, curled his fists. “Listen. I’m about ten fucking minutes from boiling over with rage so either I’m gonna fight or I’m gonna fuck, and I’ve got a limited window on the second before all this goddamn whiskey hits my dick and I’m not good for anything.” He squirmed internally at the choice of words. Sometimes he’d come home drunk and unable to fuck and _she’d_ get pissed off and say he wasn’t good for anything now. A therapist might say he had self-esteem issues and used his sexuality to cope. He didn’t really give a shit.

“Fine! Car or bathroom?”

That… had not been the answer he was expecting. “W-what?”

“You’re not the only one who’s angry, you know. Just c’mere.” He pulled Michael in and kissed him, less messily than before, and it might have been almost sweet except sweet wasn’t going to make him feel better so Michael dropped his hands down to Gavin’s ass and squeezed.

“Bathroom,” he murmured when they had to breathe, and Gavin nodded and followed him in. The bathroom was as dingy and ugly as the rest of the bar, not so much dirty as old, with a single flickering light bulb and cracked, stained Formica surrounding the sink. In another lifetime, at a nicer place, Michael maybe wouldn’t mind setting Gavin on that counter, standing between his spread knees and kissing him softly until they were both breathless. But here and now the whiskey snapped at his heels and he hurried to unbuckle his belt, to shove his jeans to his knees and take his cock in hand, stroking it hard and fast and chafing with the calluses on his palms until he was mostly hard.

Gavin hadn’t really done anything but watch, so Michael reached for him too, struggled to get his tight jeans down far enough to touch him. Gavin’s cock was longer than his, which for some reason pissed him off, but it wasn’t as thick and Gavin, unlike him, didn’t shave. “What do you want?” he hissed, taking Gavin’s cock in one hand and his own in the other, stroking both in time.

Gavin shuddered at his touch and his eyes slipped closed. “I’m not gonna ask again,” Michael warned.

“Hard– make it hurt. Make me forget.”

Well, fuck, if there was anything Michael fucking Jones was good at, it was hurting someone else. They made a disgustingly good pairing, one who wanted to hurt and one who wanted to be hurt. He might laugh about that, later, but right now there was bile in his gut burning him up and he wanted to be inside someone. Except he didn’t… “ _Fucking shit_ ,” he said, grinding his teeth.

“What?”

“Don’t have any lube… fuck it.”

Gavin’s eyes shot open at that. “Are you going to–”

“Shut up, I know what I’m doing.” He pulled his hands away and spun Gavin around so that he had his back to Michael. “Shirt off.” Who wore a button down to a bar? When Gavin had tugged it off, Michael dipped his hand back down to rub his cock, hard and fast, a rhythm meant to make him come fast. He sunk his teeth into the freckles on Gavin’s shoulders and laughed when he saw he’d drawn blood.

Gavin was making these noises, sweet and sharp, and Michael could just see his reflection over Gavin’s shoulder in the mirror, how desperate and pathetic they both looked. Did he lock the door? Did this door have a lock? Couldn’t remember. Didn’t matter. “Hurry up and come,” he panted in Gavin’s ear, and with a whine he obeyed, spilling into Michael’s hand.

Michael pulled back and with his clean hand, he pushed Gavin down so that he was resting his elbows on the countertop. The come-slicked hand he used to open Gavin up, prepare him. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than going in dry. Gavin took two, three fingers easily, didn’t complain at Michael’s hurried and ungentle preparation when he was so sensitive, even rolled his hips back to encourage Michael to go deeper.

When Michael thought it was good enough, that he wouldn’t be causing any hurt that wasn’t deliberate, he rubbed the last of the come on his cock to slick it up and pushed into Gavin in one jerky motion. _Yes_ , he thought triumphantly. _Yes_. This was exactly what he needed. He pulled most of the way out and let his hips snap forward, and fuck it felt good to be the one in charge, the one deciding their speed and position and desires. Gavin had buried his face in his hands and was letting out a steady stream of quiet moans, and Michael wanted him to be loud so he scraped his nails down the bony track of his spine and Gavin arched his back and screamed.

It didn’t take him long to come. It had been a long time since he’d fucked a guy, he’d almost forgotten how hot and tight it was, and there was something disgustingly arousing about knowing the passage was slicked with Gavin’s come. He leaned in close to whisper in Gavin’s ear. “You gonna come again?” He didn’t know why he cared, he wanted desperately to not care, but he did so he asked.

Gavin, for his part, didn’t say anything at all, but nodded and keened. Michael had forgotten what sex felt like without insults, and was so damned grateful that he reached around and helped Gavin come again, helped them come together. He made some god-awful noise, he was sure. Later he didn’t remember, only remembered the utter peace on Gavin’s face as he came all over the counter.

After, Michael was the one to clean it up. The counter had no doubt seen a lot worse than come, so he only half-heartedly wiped it down with a damp paper towel and then pulled his jeans back on. “That was… I needed that,” he said, instead of a thank you.

“Me too,” Gavin said. “I’m– I need– I’m drunker than I thought.”

Huh. Sometime when he hadn’t been paying attention, the alcohol had settled into Michael’s veins and he couldn’t quite walk straight, his vision slightly shaky. “I’m going home,” he announced, like it mattered. “Need to sleep this off.”

“D’you– wanna come home with me?” Gavin asked, almost shy. Poor kid.

Michael shook his head. “Not really.” Fuck, he hated seeing his face drop like that. “But, uh, you got my number, right? So, y’know… call me sometime, or whatever. I don’t know.”

That seemed to lift Gavin’s spirits a bit. “Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“It was good to meet you.”

“You too, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might turn this into an expanded thing, how the Crew gets together. I don't know. Some of the Crew members show up above nameless– Geoff is the guy Jack is banging, and Ray is Michael's roommate– HOWEVER Lindsay is not the ex-girlfriend. I wasn't envisioning anyone in particular.


End file.
